The Daring Drive of Danny Devito

It wasn't Christmas anymore, as Danny Devito (from here on known as "Mr. D") stepped into his swagger wagon. He turned on the radio. Then turned it off. On again. Confused at his actions, Mr. D slapped himself in the noggin, rupturing his spleen. He gulped up the pain and put the key in the ignition. Then realized he had already put the key in the ignition, but had thought he didn't because I did not mention it in these transcripts.

Mr. D slowly rolled down the driveway in neutral, forgetting where the acceleration pedal was. He opened the glove box to find a pack of gum. He picked up the pack and popped a piece of gum in his mouth. He grimaced, and then defecated. He spat out the gum exclaiming, "Yuck!" Forgetting why the glove box was open, he ripped of his shirt and shoved it into the glove box.

Mr. D slammed on the accelerator. His body jerked back with the movement of the car. His car chair reclined as he continued to accelerate. He began to slam his head onto the steering wheel repeatedly. Since he was going straight, he drove across the street and rammed into the garage of his neighbor's house. He stumbled out of the car shirtless screaming, "Damn you, where's the Christmas lights?" His neighbor burst out the front door infuriated.

"What in tarnation?"

"Sorry," Mr. D replied. He unzipped his fly. Then zipped it back up. Back down. Forgetting what happened he rambled, "Ha! You crashed your car into your garage, silly."

"No, that was you," the neighbor said, mysteriously unzipping his fly as well.

"Oh god," Mr. D hunched forward. "Here comes lunch!"

"What the hell?" the stylishly randy neighbor said. Mr. D vomited all over his own car. He continued to vomit for quite some time, until his genius came to.

"Wait, I got an idea," he suddenly sounded wasted. He opened his car door. Some of the vomit trickled down the edge of the seats. He opened the glove box and took out his shirt. Mr. D swiftly balled up his shirt and plugged it into his oesophagus. He took a Swiss army knife out of his pocket and cut a hole in his throat to breathe. What he didn't realize is that the shirt had entered his stomach and was currently being digested, so cutting a hole in his throat helped as much as David Beckum helped Americans embrace sawker.

"You fool!" the neighbor cried. He was now completely naked. "Give me your keys, Devito! I'll take ya to Sea World!" The trip to Sea World was an odd gesture, but a fair one. They shook hands, and hopped into the car.

The neighbor, now completely clothed in Medieval armor, cruised out of the driveway. Feeling claustrophobic, Mr. D did nothing. After a few minutes of nothing he pulled the shirt out of his oesophagus through the hole in his neck. The bleeding was now constant. Then the bleeding stopped. Bleeding. Not bleeding. Mr. D thought about happy thoughts, so he pushed his neighbor out of the car going 2 miles per hour, (?km). The neighbor landed with a 'mooo!', but quickly got back on his feet. Mr. D rolled into the driver's seat and took control. He turned on the radio. He left it on. Forgetting the reason he was in the car in the first place, he turned around and crashed the car into his neighbor's garage again.